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  “I have heard quite enough,” he said, his voice a blade. Sharp and cold. “I bid you farewell, Queen. I hope you enjoy your flowers, perhaps you should stay with them until you learn their sweetness once more.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Sweet flowers only follow where strong roots lead. A farmer king would know that.”

  He turned away from me, disgust written on his face. I watched him march resolutely to the door, thrust it open, and vanish on the other side.

  • • •

  The prince did not come to our chamber that night; I did not expect him to. Alone in the great bed I stared up at the ceiling, my belly filled with angry bile. Let him go to war, I thought. If Kore had any mercy she’d cause my fool of a husband to lose his precious campaign and forgo Myrilla to a king with more sense and decency.

  The next morning I slid out of the sheets and broke my fast. At least, that is what I attempted. I had no appetite; I managed to swallow a couple mouthfuls of bread and left the rest on my plate, along with the apples and cheese. My back was stiff as the maids dressed my hair, my cavalier stubbornness replaced by chilly fear. My marriage to the prince was less than two months in length, but in that short time I had already forgotten the terror of living with a rage-filled king. Now the memories came flooding back, and I felt myself sinking into my former shell. Why must I be cursed with such an unfortunate pattern?

  I knew of only one safe place. After my temple prayers I headed straight for my garden. A thin frost covered the ground, crunching beneath my feet and lending sparkle to the grass in the autumn sun. When I reached the garden door I slipped the heavy bronze key from my pocket and turned the lock. This time the garden stood empty; no princes to be found among the roses and heath. I closed the door and pressed my back to it, thanking the gods for small mercies.

  I set to work, singing softly to the flowers as the sun rose in the sky. I pulled at weeds and cut down the thistles, readying the soil for winter. But somehow the tasks held little joy. My hands felt slow and sluggish, more than once I had to set down my trowel for a rest. Icy wind whipped through the garden, stirring leaves and chilling me to my core.

  I pressed on, but instead of filling me with new energy the work only drained my strength. Clouds scuttled across the sun, cooling the air further, and when I pulled my cloak tight around me I could hardly do it for my shaking hands. The garden was so quiet I could hear my rattling breath. I wanted more than anything to climb into my warm bed and pull the downy covers over me, but I didn’t feel I could walk ten paces, much less the distance back to the castle. From the corner of my eye I spotted the bench, waiting invitingly beneath the rosy arbor. The trowel fell from my hand as I pushed myself to my feet and staggered toward it. Each step sent a blinding pain from the crown of my head to the backs of my eyes. Shivers racked my body and when I reached the bench I didn’t sit as much as fall onto it. I pulled my knees up to my chest, sweating from the effort in spite of the cold, and closed my eyes. If I could rest, only for a moment, I knew I’d feel better.

  • • •

  I can’t tell you how long I slept, but it must’ve been hours, for when I opened my eyes the sky was as black as pitch and peppered with thousands of stars. The thinnest sliver of moon hung over me as though suspended by a string. My head hurt so badly I could scarcely lift my eyes to look at it. I was lying on my side, desperately cold and wondering how I would ever walk to the castle, when I heard a pounding at the garden door.

  “Alyce! Are you in there?”

  The prince’s voice rang through the clear night air, but there was no chance of me answering. Each harsh knock sent a lightning bolt of agony surging through my head and tears into my eyes. With monumental effort I burrowed further into my cloak just as the door swung open.

  “Is the queen there?” I heard one of the guards say.

  “Give me a moment,” said the prince. Several pairs of feet shuffled and the prince ordered them to halt. “This is the queen’s garden. I’ll look for her alone.”

  His feet fell softly on the stone path, pausing here and there as he searched. I knew I should call to him, but my body ached and my head was swimming. For all I knew his presence could have been the product of my addled imagination. He drew closer to the corner where I was lying, and when his footsteps came faster I knew he had spotted me.

  “Alyce!” he called sharply. “What are you still doing here? The castle is in uproar; no one’s seen you for hours. If this is your idea of revenge for yesterday it’s petty and childish—”

  He stopped in front of the bench, and even though I couldn’t see him, I felt the wrath and frustration disappear from his body. His boots scuffed against the stone as he knelt and gently pulled the cloak away from my face. He took in my glazed eyes, shivering form, and beads of sweat glittering at my hairline, and swore under his breath. I flinched as he pressed the back of his hand to my forehead; it felt so cold that it burned.

  The prince swept his cloak from his shoulders and wrapped it around me. Then, as if I were nothing more than a child, he lifted me from the bench and bundled me into his arms. His touch was agonizing, and tears seeped from beneath my eyelids. My head throbbed with every step he took, though his chest was warm and solid beneath my cheek.

  Somewhere in the distance I heard the heavy garden door creak on its hinges. The prince’s voice thrummed in my ear; the last thing I heard was him telling his men that the queen was ill with a raging fever, and then everything went dark.

  Chapter 7

  Weak light flooded my eyes and I smelled the remnants of a fire. The stiffness in my body told me I had slept for a long time, a very long time. Days, perhaps. It took me a moment to recognize my surroundings. I was in bed, suffocating beneath a pile of blankets and sheets, and the room was so stifling with the heat still pouring from the hearth that I attempted to throw the covers off me, if just to get some air. But I couldn’t lift them. I could barely lift my head.

  “Good morning, Lady Queen.”

  I gave a start—at least, as much of a start as I could give in my sluggish state. A woman sat in a chair near the bed, hemming a shirt. She turned to look at me and I recognized her at once. It was the woman from the temple. Up close she was so old and frail I had a difficult time believing she could even see her stitches. Her mouth was full of pins, which she removed and stabbed into the shirt before rising to her feet. I wanted to tell her not to bother, she had no reason to bow to me, but my confusion trumped my courtesy.

  “How long have I been asleep?” I asked her, lifting my hand to push my hair out of my eyes. The weakness in my arms astounded me; it took heroic effort to simply move my fingers.

  She saw me struggling and put down her sewing. “Don’t fuss, Lady Queen,” she said, adjusting the pillows against the headboard and helping me sit up. She took a ribbon from the table and tied my hair back; her hands were much gentler than I expected. When she finished, she bowed again, as if to apologize for touching me, and stood by the bed. “You’ve been asleep for four nights, since the king brought you in with the fever.”

  I breathed deeply, trying to recollect any of that time, but it came up blank. “What happened? And please, sit,” I added.

  She took her seat with a grateful nod and resumed her sewing. “They had to break the fever first, so they put hot stones in the bathing chamber and poured cold water on them to make you sweat. Then they brought in river water—ice cold, it was—and filled the tub to the brim for you to bathe in. The bottom was lined with cold rocks from the river, too. That’s what knocked the fever. You’ve done nothing but rest since.”

  I nodded, thankful I couldn’t recall any of the treatment. Helpful though it was, it sounded like absolute torture. The woman crossed the room and spoke to a servant outside the door. “You’re meant to eat now,” she explained. “I was told to alert the kitchens as soon as you woke up.”

  Again, I nodded, though I couldn’t imagine performing an action as complicated as chewing and swallowing. So I was qui
te relieved when, a few minutes later, a servant arrived bearing a tray laden with wine and a bowl of steaming broth. She placed it carefully on the table and departed. I was just wondering how I would find the strength to lift the spoon when the elderly woman dragged her chair closer to the bed.

  “You’re a brave woman, Lady Queen,” she said. “But it’ll be at least tomorrow before you can feed yourself again.” She lifted the crystal cup to my lips and let me drink a long draught of wine, then took up the bowl. I felt humbled and oddly comforted to see her spoon up the broth, then blow on it to help it cool before feeding me, as though I were a small child.

  I drank all the broth and desperately wanted more, I was so hungry, but the woman shook her head. “It’s a long while since you last ate, Lady Queen. It won’t do to bring you back from fever only to sicken your belly on too much food too fast.”

  I conceded and fell back on the pillows. My stomach was warm and full, and I felt quite refreshed. The woman stacked the dirty dishes on the tray and returned it to the servant waiting outside. I looked over at the other side of the bed, wondering for the first time about its usual occupant. “Where is the king?” I asked casually.

  She kept her gaze on her work. “I believe he has business in the throne room.”

  It took all of my willpower not to roll my eyes. I had no doubt that as soon as he’d ferried me back to the castle he had no trouble leaving me to the care of physicians, hoping to distance himself from my illness as much as possible. He was, after all, a coward with no regard for any life but his own. “I’m sure he’s quite busy,” I said lightly. “And it’s important he preserve his health. It wouldn’t do to have both the monarch and his consort out of commission.”

  The woman lowered her sewing and gave me a look so cutting it was almost as if she’d glimpsed my thoughts. “The king has been at your side day and night, Lady Queen,” she said, though it sounded close to a scolding. “He has scarcely slept these four nights. He’s the one who oversaw your treatment and made sure your fever had abated before allowing you to be put to bed. He halted all official business so he could be sure of your health. He only made an exception for today because the foreign messenger he summoned arrived before he had a chance to postpone the meeting. He left just before you woke, and assured me he would return before midday.”

  My cheeks flushed and I dropped my gaze, ashamed. Not only had I underestimated this surprisingly well-informed woman, but I had doubted the prince. He had taken every measure in ensuring my wellbeing, when I knew I wouldn’t have lifted a finger to help him if our fortunes were reversed.

  “May the gods forgive me,” I whispered. “I’ve mistreated him as well as you.”

  She watched me for a moment. “You’ve not mistreated me. You’re young, and still new to queenship. You will learn.”

  The confidence in her voice lifted my head. “Will you please tell me your name?”

  “Lilianne, Servant of Kore.”

  I nodded. I had met very few Servants of Kore. These were women who devoted their lives to studying Kore in order to emulate her better, choosing never to marry or bear children so that when they met the God of Souls they would know him as she had. It was not a path chosen by many, certainly not one I had ever considered. Not that I had a choice in the matter. As a princess of Myrilla, marriage was required.

  Suddenly shy, I swallowed and glanced at the door. “Would you mind, Lilianne, if you helped me to bathe? The king probably won’t be much longer in coming, and I’d like to be fresh upon his arrival.”

  Lilianne smiled approvingly and called for the bath to be filled. I didn’t have the strength to even walk to the bathing chamber, so I submitted to letting Lilianne lead me in and then bathe me like a little girl. She scrubbed my back and combed perfumed oil through my hair with the gentleness of a veteran bathmaid. When she finished, she wrapped me in a warm sheet and placed me before the fire to dry. As I watched the dying flames she hunted in my wardrobe for a bit, and then dressed me in a simple blue gown. I felt quite spent from the bustle of activity; I was just letting her help me back into bed for a rest when the door opened.

  The prince appeared in the doorway. He looked neither happy nor disappointed to see me awake; his face remained thoughtfully blank as Lilianne bowed to him. I remained seated on the edge of the bed, trembling slightly from the efforts of bathing and dressing. The prince shut the door behind him and stood a little distance from me. He clutched a sheaf of papers in his hand and looked as though he hadn’t slept properly in days.

  “How do you feel?” he asked, with no preamble.

  I eased back against my pillows. “Quite well, thank you. Lilianne has been a tremendous caretaker. I daresay she could outperform the most skilled nurse in Myrilla. I am very grateful for her presence.”

  Lilianne bowed. “You are too kind, Lady Queen. It’s an honor to serve a sweet lamb such as yourself.” With a sly wink, she slipped through the door and vanished into the corridor.

  The room suddenly felt much smaller, with only the prince and me remaining. My nerves tightened as I remembered the unkind thoughts I’d had about him and in that moment I wanted, for the first time, to be friends. “Thank you,” I started awkwardly, “for finding me in the garden and bringing me back to the castle. Lilianne said you were responsible for my course of treatment, so I owe my recovery to you.”

  He shifted uncomfortably. “It was no trouble, I’m just glad you’re better.” He looked like he wanted nothing more than to flee the chamber. “I just stopped by to see if you were awake yet. I’ll be in the throne room with the dispatch messenger from Warkenland for the rest of the afternoon; if you need anything have Lilianne send a page.”

  “Wait,” I said, pushing myself upright. “Why is the messenger from Warkenland here?”

  “I sent for him earlier in the week and he arrived late last night. Of course, he understands that in your illness you were unable to receive him.”

  I narrowed my eyes. Any tender feelings I’d had for the prince withered further with each sharp word I spoke. “Forgiving the fact that you denied me the opportunity to welcome him as befits my station, I cannot see why you’d summon him here. Unless, of course, you’re planning to proceed with your mad schemes.”

  “My ‘mad schemes’ have nothing to do with you, Alyce. You’ve made your views quite clear.”

  “I want to know why he’s here,” I demanded. “Is it war talk? Are you and Warkenland deciding between the two of you which nation will lay victim to your folly? It’s madness. You cannot honestly hope to rouse an army. The people here won’t stand for it. Not now, not at this fragile time. Did you hear nothing I said the other day?”

  “Of course I heard you!” he nearly shouted. “Everyone on the castle grounds probably heard you.” He paused and rubbed his brow, then began in a quieter voice, “Alyce, you’ve been ill for days. This is hardly the time or place to discuss such weighty matters. We can talk about it later; for now you need to rest. Lilianne will have my head if she sees all her hard work undone.”

  I ignored his attempts at sympathy. “Don’t patronize me,” I snapped. “My body was ill but my mind is perfectly sound.”

  He smirked. “Then I suppose I shouldn’t ask for you to take my cause to your precious temple and ask Kore’s blessing?”

  I was nearly shaking with anger now. “No, you shouldn’t. And don’t ask for mine either because you won’t get it.”

  “Then I’ll leave you to your recovery,” he said, accompanying his words with a mocking bow. “Shall I tell the messenger you send your greetings? Or is your belly too full of bile?”

  I unsheathed my falsest, most sugary smile, all offerings of friendship forgotten. “Yes, please greet him for me,” I said sweetly. “Tell him I send my love. Tell him to please excuse my absence. Tell him I look forward to watching you and his king tear our little corner of the world into shreds.”

  Chapter 8

  I saw very little of the prince for the rest of that
day, and several days after. I’d sit alone on the little window seat in our room, wrapped in blankets and watching the grounds turn increasingly cold and barren. It seemed that everything was cast in a dull grey light, with winter hurtling quickly toward us. I tried very hard not to think about what plots and battle plans the prince was drawing up in the throne room with his messengers coming and going, choosing to concentrate my worry on my flowers instead. I was eager to get out of the confines of the castle and out into the fresh air once more.

  As I won back my strength I learned to eat and bathe and walk again without Lilianne’s help. The fever had torn through my body, leaving me weakened and frustrated, but it wasn’t long before I was able to venture out to the temple again each morning. I’d wrap my thickest cloak around my heaviest gowns and walk up the hill, bent against the wind. The few bare wheat fields left in the kingdom had been sown while I was in my sickbed, so there was nothing for me to do but wait and pray that they would yield a generous harvest. Every morning I knelt at the altar and poured my paltry handful of grain into the fire as a sacrifice to the gods. The smell of burning grain filled the temple and I found myself wondering how it could be helpful to burn up the very thing I was hoping to save, but then I’d look at the pictures carved into the walls and my questions would dry up, quenched by fear. It wasn’t my place to wonder; the God of Souls would have his way.

  In spite of the weather, there was still much work to be done in the garden. I trimmed and pruned and covered exposed roots. I cut away wilted flowers and broke off every dead branch I could spot, all in preparation for winter. Most of the plants had slipped into dormancy, with the exception of the heath and juniper and a few other winter flowers. But the garden didn’t look dead or depressing, just peaceful. The days grew shorter and the air was so bitingly cold that I didn’t stay out nearly as long as I had in those early days of autumn.